


Brontide

by orphan_account



Series: Orphan Black Writing Prompts [4]
Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-10 04:55:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1155340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Helena is scared of thunder and Sarah tries to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brontide

Black clouds roll outside the bay window like the ominous waves of the ocean. A low growl rumbles from deep within the sky and crescendos into a roar. Helena holds her hands in her lap with fingers interlocking. The vague set of her eyes and the abrupt placidity of her face brand her with the expression of death. 

“Yeah? You were saying something?” I prompt and lean down to meet her downcast eyes. Her lips hang off her teeth like an abandoned swing with a seat of cracked leather and rusted chains. A blank expression covers her face like plaster and makes her features placid and lifeless, like a staring statue, an abandoned shell. “Helena?”

I snap my fingers in her face and watch as the friction of fingers ignite a spark within her eyes, a flash of life. She comes back slowly, timidly. Her blank expression cracks and the pieces separate like islands of melting ice gaining greater distance from each other until Helena can be seen underneath.

“Yes. Kira told me she wants watercolor paint.”  She says softly, picking up the conversation she dropped suddenly, almost instinctually, at the sound of thunder. Her voice is soft and vulnerable like the pink skin of a hermit without its shell.

“What just happened?” I ask. Helena’s brow knits together and she readjusts her interlocking grip.

“Kira told me she wants watercolor paint,” she repeats.

“No, yeah, I got that. A moment ago you randomly went quiet. It looked like you just shut off or something.”

Helena says nothing, but taps her knuckles with a finger methodically.  “What happened?” I ask. Her shoulders rise and fall like a heavy breath.

“I don’t know.”

I rest my forehead on my palm with a sigh and slowly drag my hand down my face, rubbing my eyes, before letting it slap palm flat against the table. She eyes the hand mutely.

“Helena, I can’t help you if you don’t let me.”

Thunder rips through the sky echoing like the shot of a bullet and leaves an unnatural silence in the house.

“Tomas says thunder is God’s way of yelling at me,”

I feel my jaw lock into a grimace, forcing my teeth to bite the inside of my cheek. There is so much shame in her voice. I don’t know what to say, or what words of comfort I could give to deny the once-gospel words of her abuser; I touch her knee instead, bouncing anxiously beneath the table, and say nothing. I let my fingers spread over the kneecap remembering the way she tried to reach out to me before with hands seeking for purchase, pleading for love.  _Let me save you_.

Beneath the layers of skin worn like metal, behind the gnashing teeth and piercing claws lies a battered child trembling in a cage and bleeding tears like a heart.

“Well Tomas didn’t know much because my mum told me something else,” I say, putting on a playful tone. Helena looks at me, eyes wide and searching. Her face is illuminated by the sudden flash of lightning. She winces from the subsequent boom. “Thunder always follows lightning—they’re friends you see, and they travel together, but Lightning’s too quick so it has to be bright so Thunder can see it. Then Thunder has to be loud to let Lightning know that it’s still following, yeah?”

I flash a smile and raise my hand to playfully knock her shoulder. Her shoulders pinch together as she hunches, thinking it over. After a moment, her lips stretch in a close-mouthed smile. She laughs low in her throat and I can hear it rumble in her chest like the distant sound of thunder.

 

**Author's Note:**

> "Batter my heart, three-person'd God, for you  
> As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;  
> That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend  
> Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new."   
> \--John Donne  
> (subtly copies natalie's perfect idea)


End file.
